Deadly Dreams (34 page)

Nate pulled into his drive, weariness weighing on him. He wondered if Risa had turned in for the night yet. Or if she did, whether she’d sleep.

His mind lingered on the shock and worry in her eyes when he’d held her. And he couldn’t help recalling that first fist-in-the-gut reaction when he’d seen her shirt soaked with blood. Even knowing that it wasn’t hers, couldn’t be hers, his immediate flare of fear had been telling.

There was more there, much more than he should be feeling for a colleague. More than the unheeded protectiveness he experienced with Cass. Unease spiked. Risa didn’t even live around here. Not permanently. And he knew nothing about her.

Except that she had an unexpected wit. Was hot shit on a basketball court. Despite his exhaustion, a corner of his mouth kicked up. She had great instincts when it came to an investigation that had apparently deserted her when it came to taste in husbands.

And after tonight he knew what it felt like to have that long, lithe body against his, even briefly. A flicker of guilt warred against hormones. Was wrestled away. He’d used the portable strobe on his dash to get to the hospital as quickly as possible because he’d wanted—needed—to see for himself that she was all right. That first look at her covered in blood had shaved a good year off his life before logic kicked in.

He waited for the garage door to open and eased the car inside. When he did, all thoughts of Risa Chandler were shoved aside by the frustration that licked up his spine. Kristin’s car was missing.

She wouldn’t have pulled the same shit as a few days ago. He wanted to believe that as he unlocked the door from the garage and entered the house. After their go-round he expected to see a babysitter sitting in the family room. From habit, he toed off his shoes before going to check. Tucker was a light sleeper. And Nate wasn’t up to a battle with him tonight.

His gut tightened when he stepped into the kitchen. Found it empty. Moving swiftly through the house, he discovered no one watching TV. Or stretched out on the couch asleep.

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment and his fists clenched. As hard as it was to believe Kristin would leave Tucker home alone at night—again—he was going to have to face that she had.

And then he was going to have to call the lawyer tomorrow and put plans in motion that he’d hoped for far too long that he could avoid.

Nate went to Tucker’s room, listened outside it before easing open the door. What he saw had ice chasing over his skin. Panic sprinting up his spine.

Tucker’s bed was neatly made. And empty.

In disbelief, he strode in, yanked open the closet door. Back when Tucker had been fascinated by Batman, he’d snuck out of bed to sleep in his closet a couple times. Had insisted stubbornly that it was his bat cave.

But the closet was empty, too.

A curse on his lips, he strode out of the room and down the hall. Soundlessly entered his sister’s bedroom and flipped on the light.

Dresser drawers had been hastily opened and not quite closed. A quick look in her closet showed an empty space where her duffel bag should be.

Nate was compelled to recheck Tucker’s room, like the boy might have materialized in the last minute.

He realized then that the bed had never been slept in. Which meant the two of them had left before Tucker’s bedtime.

Ah shit. A wave of bleak disappointment swamped him then. He sagged against the doorjamb. Scrubbed his face with his hands. At eight o’clock, he and Risa had still been at the station. Something Kristin would have counted on, since he hadn’t been home much the last several days.

He wheeled around and headed to the kitchen in the forlorn hope that she’d left a note. Was unsurprised to discover none. If Kristin had wanted to tell him where she was going, she could have called him at any time.

She hadn’t. Because she didn’t want him to know. Just the opposite.

A surge of anger had him slamming his fist against the counter. Nate forced himself to think logically. Many of their things had been left in their rooms but that meant nothing. Kristin tended to think in terms of packing light and moving swiftly. It didn’t necessarily mean she planned on coming back.

And at the moment, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and without much hope punched in her number. It went immediately to voice mail.

He considered his options. Found them depressingly limited. They weren’t considered missing persons. Kristin had a legal right to take her son wherever she wanted. She just had damn little money and seemingly less sense, not to mention a smoldering resentment of her brother that had its roots in their childhood. She still had full custody over Tucker, because Nate had wanted to believe that her months-long sobriety meant that she’d finally changed. He’d thought having them live with him would give him a chance to make sure while keeping Tuck safe. Hell, maybe he’d just wanted to believe it.

And if he’d dragged her through a custody hearing months ago, that wouldn’t have changed a damn thing. She’d still be gone right now. And so would Tucker.

So he did the only thing he could do. Crossing to the desk in the kitchen, he rooted around in a drawer until he found the list of contacts he kept. Kristin’s contacts. Her friends. Their numbers and addresses. He’d shamelessly culled them from her phone the first week she’d moved in with him and Tucker. Because despite their relationship—or because of it—he was a cop first. And maybe he’d known he was going to need every tool he could get his hands on.

Pulling out a chair from the kitchen table, he sank into it and dialed the first number on the list. He didn’t care whom he woke up. One of them would know something about where she had headed with his nephew. And they’d damn well share that information with him.

It was hardly surprising that Risa would dream that night. But the subconscious images were a jumble of faces and events from the last several days and made little sense. A burning man standing in the window above Tory’s became an adult Juicy, who in turn morphed back twenty years, racing down a darkened street with a blond boy at his side. Morales frowned at her with unspoken disapproval before growing wavy at the edges and disappearing. Nate was by her side, whispering in her ear.
Did you draw your weapon?

I couldn’t find it,
the dream Risa responded.
Your jacket was so big.

Juicy’s young friend looked up at her with pleading in his eyes. But when he spoke, it was another boy’s words she heard.
Risa, don’t leave me.

And through it all the shots echoed over and over. Her brain told her hand to move. To draw her weapon. But it remained frozen at her side. Adam fell against her. Knocked her to the ground. His blood soaked her shirt before she turned him over.

Jerry Muller bounced the basketball in the driveway without looking their way. Just kept his head down and dribbled. Dribbled. Dribbled.
Call an ambulance,
dream Risa called.

You killed him.
Jerry dribbled again.
He’ll burn up before it gets here.

And when Risa looked again, Adam was in flames. The smoke billowed and plumed, making her cough and turn away. The blond boy morphed into Darrell, holding a full carafe.
It’s just Flo’s coffee
. He laughed.
She always burns the coffee.

But the smell grew stronger and Adam melted away. Risa looked down and saw the flames shooting up her arm. There wasn’t pain but the smoke made her choke and her lungs heaved for oxygen . . .

Her coughing woke her. Disoriented, she sat up, waited for the sleep-induced haze to clear from her mind. But the haze didn’t clear. It filled her nose and settled in her lungs and made it difficult to breathe.

It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t part of the dream. Another to identify it as smoke.

Risa bounded from her bed, went to her closed bedroom door. The heat emanating from the doorknob had her snatching her hand away again. She grabbed the comforter from the bed and folded it, wedging it tightly at the bottom of her door. Then she flipped on the light switch. Found it not working.

“Mom!” Her mother would be home by now. Light was edging along the shade on the window. She’d be home and soundly asleep after working all night. Risa crawled across the bed and slapped a searching hand on the bedside table. Found nothing. With a stab of frustration she remembered that her cell was in her purse. Which was setting on a table right inside the front door.

She lunged up from the bed and crossed the room to pound on the adjoining wall. “Mom! Wake up!”

But though she pounded until her fist ached, her mother didn’t respond. And it wasn’t getting any easier to breathe in the room.

Rounding the bed, she went to the window. Unlocked it and struggled to shove it open. The house was outfitted with double-hung windows, which meant only the bottom would move. It would be enough space to wiggle through. But first she had to remove the combination storm.

Which proved more difficult than she’d imagined. The house was over fifty years old. The outside windows may not have been removed in that time. And the smoke was making it difficult for her to see. To breathe.

Racked with coughing spasms, she ran back to the bed and pulled on the table. Then shoved it over near the window. Climbing on top of it, she kicked out one foot against the storm. Once. Twice. Again.

It held tight. Her throat and lungs were burning. She leaned down and opened the drawer of the table. Took out the holstered weapon she’d placed there. She hadn’t unloaded it when she’d come home. Had been so exhausted it was all she could do not to fall into bed fully clothed.

She drew the weapon with hands that shook. Nearly dropped it because of the sudden dampness on her palms.

Then fired two shots at the base of the outside storm. And this time when she aimed a kick at the window, it flew open. Hung loosely.

Risa lost no time replacing the safety on the weapon and squeezing through the window to drop to the ground.

The shots fired had her neighbor tumbling from the house next door, security light blazing. “Did he come back? I’m ready this time, Risa!”

Ordinarily the sight of the barefooted, short, burly Jerry Muller in a satin robe swinging a baseball bat would have given her pause. But she was on her knees, weapon beside her, gasping for air. “Fire!” Weakly, she pointed toward her mother’s window. “Hannah.”

She wanted to tell him to call the fire department. Would just as soon as she could croak the words out of her smokedamaged throat. But he was already running for the house. Came back much too soon.

In the next moment, comprehension bloomed. The folding step stool he carried was set beneath Hannah’s window. He climbed it with a surprising agility and cocked the bat like a baseball player waiting for a fast pitch. Then swung with all his might and shattered the window. Knocked out the jagged shards surrounding the sash and did the same to the inside window. And then, to her horror, he dropped the bat and hoisted himself up and attempted to squeeze through it.

The fear that he’d get stuck had her staggering to her feet. Stumbling over. She could hear him grunting and swearing. Then he disappeared inside the room.

Time slowed to a stop. An eternity passed. Compelled to move, Risa scrambled up the stepladder, intent on checking on Jerry’s progress. He met her at the window. Holding a limp Hannah Blanchette.

“Help me get her through there!”

Risa grasped her mother’s shoulders and helped thread her through the window’s opening. It was more difficult than it should have been. She was dead weight. Unresponsive. And Risa couldn’t help remembering just a few hours earlier when Adam had been the same.

Panic fueled adrenaline. Powered strength. She hauled her mother out of Jerry’s arms and balanced her awkwardly over her shoulder as she backed down the stepladder. Hannah was nearly as tall as Risa although spare as a rod. Her height meant that her legs tangled with Risa’s as she staggered toward Jerry’s drive. Tripped. They both went sprawling.

On her knees now, Risa rolled her mother over. Checked for a pulse. Sagged in relief when she found it thready and weak. Glancing over her shoulder she noted Jerry was squeezing through the window, his robe agape and showing much too much hair-covered skin.

For the second time that evening she told him, “Call an ambulance.”

“You should be in bed, too.”

Risa winced at her mother’s smoke-roughened voice. Knew that hers sounded much the same. “Don’t talk,” she admonished her gently, and stroked Hannah’s gray hair away from her face. “That’ll just make your throat hurt worse.”

“What happened?”

Risa shook her head in mock impatience. But she answered honestly, “I don’t know yet. It’ll be a while before the investigators will have answers. Don’t worry about that now, Mom. It could have been anything. Faulty wiring. An appliance that shorted out.” She paused to sip from the water glass on the nearby table. Then made sure her mother took another drink from her own cup before continuing. “We won’t know the extent of the damage until I talk to the firemen.” The fire truck had arrived shortly before the ambulance had, and at the time, the house had been the last thing on Risa’s mind.